[Norm]

  Hey. Is it okay if I call?

  She hits the button before Masaru responds anyway. The screen shifts, Norm’s face cam panning to the bottom corner. For a second it’s nothing but blur and ceiling, then Masaru’s fingers pass in front of the lens as she hurriedly props the phone upright. The camera settles on a desk that looks like a storm torn through the crafts section of a store; fabric, chalk, pins, thread spools scattered everywhere.

  “Evening, Norm.” Masaru reaches for a pair of shears, the familiar snip echoing through the camera as she carefully guides it down a line of chalk drawn on fabric. “How’s life at Tracen?”

  “It’s… well, it’s been great. Mostly.” Norm rolls onto her back, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “ I just met my roommate. I have to say, you’re about… ten times better than she is. Maybe twenty.”

  “Miss me that much already?” Masaru chuckles, pulling out a spool of thread before trying to push it through a needlehead. “We haven’t been apart for that long, have we?”

  “Feels like an eternity.”

  Norm drapes an arm over her eyes and lets the phone slide down onto the mattress beside her. She lets out a deep sigh, long enough for Masaru’s shears to stop.

  “Well, you seem more dramatic than usual.” She glances at the screen. “Long day?”

  “Long day, yeah.” Norm’s voice muffles slightly against her forearm. “I don’t wanna talk too much about it, though.”

  A small silence collects in the room. Masaru’s gaze trails to the empty white ceiling, slightly uncertain on if she should press the issue.

  “Anyway, what’ve you been up to recently?”

  Norm fires off the question before she can.

  “Ah!” Masaru’s eyes practically light up like a bulb. She lifts the camera and pans it to the table, showing the top side of what appears to be a cuffed racing dress. “A lot’s happened since you were gone. I, for one, landed an internship at a big fashion firm!”

  “Really?”

  Norm jolts upright against the bed, her ears perking straight up in excitement. “That’s so cool! So.. what, you’re a designer now?”

  “Yup!” Masaru nods back, her tail swishing. “I’ve still got wrinkles to iron out, but everyone’s been so… nice and patient and… well, I get along with most of them. They’ve been telling me how good my designs look, too, it’s the happiest I’ve been in a while!”

  “What about your parents? Do they know?”

  “Yeah. They do.” Masaru hesitates, fingers brushing the back of her neck. “Well… I kind of went for it first, then told them about it afterwards. It wasn’t exactly a straightforward conversation, but they… pulled through in the end.”

  Something warm bubbles up inside of Norm. Was it… Pride? Happiness? Relief? She couldn’t quite tell. Her tail answers the call, scraping on the bedsheets with a soft swish.

  “I always knew you had it in you.” Norm flashes her a warm smile. “I’m so proud of you, Saru.”

  “Stop it, seriously.” She turns a slight shade of red, duckling beneath her arms as she lets out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re gonna make me blush. It’s… it’s not that big of a deal. And all thanks to you, anyway.”

  “What are you talking about? You chose your own path, don’t thank me for it.”

  Norm swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands. She makes her way over, rustles through her duffle bag and starts setting her belongings back on the nightdesk.

  “You made that decision. Own it. Be proud.”

  “Don’t be like that. You’re too humble.” Masaru shakes her head, a smile catching on her face too. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

  “Okay, okay.” Norm finally relents with a laugh. “So… big time ‘designer’ designer? Or… not quite there yet?”

  “Well… My internship ends in four months.” Masaru glances down at her work, fingers brushing the fabric like it might answer for her. “Depending on how I do, the firm’s gonna decide to keep me or not. Fingers crossed, huh?”

  “Oh? I should commission a piece from you, then.” Norm runs a finger through the air. “They’ll definitely keep you if you bring in sales. That thing with the revenue and all.”

  “Huh-? That- I-” Masaru’s jolts upright, her tools falling to the table with a clatter. She scrambles around frantically with her face bright red, her ears twitching erratically.

  “I’m not- Norm, that’s-”

  “Relax! I’m kidding.” Norm bursts into laughter. “I don’t see why not, though. Gotta cop a piece for cheap before you become a big name designer brand, no?”

  “Norm! Stop!” Masaru shrieks through the camera with a loud whine, though she can’t help but grin through her protests.

  “Fine, fine. I will.” Norm finally stifles her laugh with a sigh. “I just missed your voice, you know. Things are a lot different around here these days.”

  “No problem.” Masaru sighs, leaning down and picking up her things. “It’s nice to talk once in a while. Wanna meet up sometime?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Norm’s smile is a small one. “You should swing by Tokyo, you know. I can show you the place- My treat.”

  “Maybe… in a month or two? I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

  “It’s settled then.” Norm leans over the camera menacingly, her face taking up three-quarters of the screen with a devilish grin. “No backing out.”

  “I’d never.” Masaru replies with a cheerful wave. “Cya then.”

  “Mmhm. Bye.” Norm waves back through the camera.

  The call cuts with a beep, the room falling back into silence. She doesn’t feel quite lonely or down anymore, something warm fluttering deep in her chest. The walls still felt a bit cold, but motivation was now bubbling up endlessly inside her.

  For a second she contemplates what it’d be like to wear a dress designed by Masaru, but she knew that she had to make it to a G1 before she could even consider it.

  “Right. Saru's working hard. I can't slack off either.”

  She scrambles over and pulls out a large poster, unfurling it and scraping it against the wall. There, clad in her forest green racewear and golden epaulettes, stood the one and only Symboli Rudolf.

  “One day.” She mutters, tearing off a piece of tape and pressing it against one corner. She secures all four against the wall, then stands and overlooks the room.

  “Alright then… Herbe. If you’re not cleaning this up, guess I’m doing you a goddamn favor.”

  She lowers herself and begins to pack up the mess.

  “This one’s on the house, girl.”

  The task doesn’t take too long, but it’s by nightfall she finally finishes.

  “I’m ba- Huh?!”

  The door swings open with a thump, and Herbe’s screech of confusion tells her she’s done it right. Norm, comfortably leaned back in her seat with her legs on the table, slowly lowers the book on race theory and stares.

  “You- What did you-” Her ears turn forward, then split off to one side, her eyes scanning the room with her mouth wide agape. A look of pure, blistering confusion plasters her face as she paces the entrance in agitation.

  Her eyes pan first to the large Rudolf poster above Norm’s bed, then to the rug she nearly laid out at the foot of the bed, followed by the neat stack of books that had permanently settled in the top drawer above her desk.

  Most importantly, though, the floor was now visible.

  “My stuff! What’d you do with my stuff?”

  “It’s in the cabinet.” She rolls the chair over and gives it a light thump.

  “You-” Herbe scurries over, flinging it open with a huff. Her garments had been neatly separated into two piles, one clean and one not. The shirts, shorts, and socks had all been folded and stacked, dirty ones bundled up in the laundry basket that had been collecting dust in the corner for months.

  Herbe’s neck creaks towards Norm, mechanically, like a malfunctioning cyborg.

  “D…Don’t touch my stuff, man!” She looks… half mad, half amazed, and also like she's about to slide tackle Norm right off her chair.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “It was in the way.” She nonchalantly goes right back into her book. “I can’t focus on studying when the room looks like this. It’s my room too, you know.”

  “Tch!” Herbe gives a small growl, then slams the cabinet door and sets her bag down with a huff. It seems she’s finally given up on arguing.

  “Y- Ask next time!”

  “And what? You’re gonna clean it?” Norm laughs, cutting her off and turning her into a stammering mess. “Hishiama-senpai knows how well that’s gone. Look, don’t leave it lying around if you don’t want me to touch it. It didn’t feel right to leave it all in a heap, you know. I figured it was the least I could do.”

  “Alright, alright, point taken!” Herbe huffs and fishes out a towel from her bag. She slings it over her shoulder and walks over to the door. Her aggressive tone drops to a mumble, her teeth grit in sheer anger that she can’t quite figure out where to point. “You can shut up about it now.”

  The door closes, then opens again.

  “...And don’t touch that bag! I’ll… sort it out. I’m taking a shower.”

  Click. The room falls into silence once more. Norm lets out a long sigh, a lot more lighthearted than her last.

  Life at Tracen wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  Bzzzt. Bzzzzt.

  Her phone vibrates softly beneath her cheek, nudging her awake.

  The sky is a pale shade of blue through the crack of dawn, an orange streak of sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

  She lies there for a moment, listening.

  No footsteps.

  No laughter.

  Not even a whisper.

  Across the room Herbe remains fast asleep, nestled snugly in a ball of blanket while she drools upon her pillow.

  The only sound is her own hushed breathing rhythmically rising through her chest.

  She sits up. The air bites faintly at her skin, a rush of chills invading the sacred warmth beneath her blanket. Her bandages softly strain along her wrist as her fingers tighten, then release the fabric. Her hips, where they had struck the floor, throb still.

  Norm stands, stretches, and decides to get dressed.

  She retrieves the fresh Tracen uniform from her closet, the sound of crinkling plastic exceptionally loud in the deafening silence. She pulls, first the purple and white short-sleeved blazer, then the long white frilled skirt with ends of purple.

  She smooths them out against her bed and dresses in darkness.

  The fabric yields beneath her fingers with a faint tug, holding its shape stubbornly as if refusing to bend. Norm struggles, slipping her arms through the sleeves, then tugs the shirt over her stomach and lets the blazer settle against her skin. The collar brushes lightly against her neck, the cold fabric sending a shiver through her body.

  She proudly adjusts the bow at her throat, then picks up the skirt.

  Silence.

  “How the hell do I..?”

  She turns the skirt around once. Then twice. It stares back at her in defiance.

  There is, of course, nothing complicated about this. It was a skirt. A piece of fabric. Around the center was a waistband, running its way down the back, a zipper.

  It wasn’t supposed to feel like rocket science. Yet here she was, squinting at it like an archaeologist examining an ancient relic. An irritated twitch runs through her ears, the cold climbing further up her bare legs.

  “Who the hell designed this thing?”

  Norm slowly feels around the side, trying to find any difference between front and pack. The pleats are symmetrical, turning her exploration into a dead end. She lifts it higher, inspecting the inside lining like it might contain instructions. She doesn’t- but she finds the hole meant for her tail to fit through instead.

  “Ah. That would be the back.”

  She lifts her legs and steps into the fabric, feeling it slight up her thighs before she pulls the zipper up. Relieved, she lets out a long sigh.

  Except her legs… are still cold.

  “Guess this is what they mean by ‘refined academy attire.’”

  She hisses, ripping the socks out of their packaging. She yanks them as far up as they can go, only for the fabric to stop just past her knees, leaving her thighs woefully prickling in the chilly morning air.

  “...”

  A long pause. Long enough for her ears to ring in the silence.

  “F@%#.”

  She stands and makes her way to the door, defeated. She slips out the room, door clicking shut behind her as she pulls on a jacket.

  The hallway greets her with the same merciless chill.

  The sky over Tokyo is not yet brimming with blue.

  It hangs somewhere between silver and washed-out lavender, the sun peeking reluctantly over the horizon.

  6:17 AM.

  She stows her phone away and makes her way down the snaking riverside path. Where she once ran upon the coarse gravel of Iwaki, she was now making her way through paved concrete paths in Fuchū.

  “Huff… Huff…”

  A man in a suit stands outside a cigarette shop, tie undone, staring at nothing. A cyclist glides past her with the ring of a bell. A stray cat darts across the street- and disappears beneath a shuttered storefront.

  The city smells different this early.

  She passes beneath a line of ginkgo trees, their leaves barely beginning to turn. The railing to her right gleams with a distinct sheen of dewdrops.

  Her breathing starts to even as her body kicks into gear.

  Hair whips out behind her in bright, silver strands, practically glowing in the early morning sun. Her sneakers strike the ground in dull thuds, skirt swaying side to side with each step. Joggers are sparse at this hour- but she was no stranger to being alone.

  “Let’s kick things up a notch.”

  Norm leans forward, her legs straining beneath her with spring-loaded anticipation. Her form snaps upright as she lets her center of gravity just shift a little ahead.

  She isn’t running from anything. She’s searching.

  Searching for a sensation she’d felt back at the Unicorn Stakes.

  Her leg muscles tighten, caught coiling with explosive energy. Tension gathers deep in her hips, hissing and smoking like a powder keg ready to blow.

  A whisper. A promise.

  An ember, if you will, smoldering, ready to ignite.

  “Leave nothing behind.”

  The road beneath her holds sturdy in agreement.

  The first step bites hard into asphalt. The back of her thighs start to tingle, her calves holding a buzz. The soft skritch of rubber echoes through the air, her back foot planting itself firm…

  And she blasts forth like thunder.

  The world around her turns into a tunnel of warped colors. Storefronts fly by in intelligible flashes of light. The path beneath her narrows, neon signs by the roadside smearing into streaks of pink and blue. The wind howls loudly in her ears, drowning out even the sound of her heartbeat.

  The sensation of freedom.

  Her strides lengthen, her legs pistoning back and forth with relentless energy. Her arms draw back just beneath her hips, then flies forward with each step she takes.

  The first three strides sting. The fourth doesn’t.

  “Hah. Ahaha~!”

  A lightness rises through her chest and settles in her head. A tingling warmth spreads slowly through her body till every last inch of her skin has bested the cold. Her arms feel hollow, like they’ve been filled with air instead of bone.

  Her heart pounds hard enough to shake her vision. She doesn’t care.

  The skyline thins. Buildings shrink from glass and steel into squat residential blocks. The pavement widens into a riverside path, painted lane markers faded from years of use.

  She comes round a corner at almost top speed, halting so sharply it almost rolls her ankle… And kicks off again, accelerating through the streets with a gust beneath her that kicks up fallen leaves in her stead.

  “Haaah… haaaah…”

  She finally comes to a stop beneath a pedestrian bridge, slowing to a jog, then a walk. Droplets of sweat line her skin, her legs burning with warmth like a full-blast furnace. Her heart pounds loudly between her chest- alive.

  “Yes! That felt good.”

  She pumps her fist and grins slightly, speaking to… no one in particular. Her tail gives a content swish as she turns back and takes in the city skyline.

  “You know… that was some extraordinary explosive power.”

  “Ah!” Norm spooks hard, nearly jumping out of her own skin.

  A newspaper rustles. Someone stands from the bench beneath the bridge.

  “Though… It was to be expected from the one who made it through the Unicorn Stakes. As a Turf runner, might I add.”

  He steps up beside her, coffee in one hand, expression composed in a way that far belied his young appearance. The long black bangs, the clean sideburns, just familiar enough to unsettle her.

  She knows him.

  She absolutely knows him.

  …She has forgotten his name.

  “Good to see you again, Norm.”

  “R-Right. Good to see you too.” She straightens reflexively, wiping sweat from her temple. “The last time we met was in… Iwaki, right?

  “That would be correct.” The man nods.

  “What’re you doing out so early in the morning?”

  “Funny story.” He tilts his head slightly, amused. “One of my trainees needed ankle tape, so I figured I’d go pick up some early in the morning. Then it turns out specialty stores don’t open until ten… so I swung by a nearby conbini instead.”

  “...Right.”

  “Didn’t expect to run into you here.” He grins and takes a sip out of his cup. “But perhaps it’s for the best that we did.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “There are some issues we need to address. For starters, you lean too far forward when you accelerate.” He whips out a notepad and starts to scribble. “Compensating for explosive output with anterior drive. If done improperly, that will burn your hamstrings by October left unchecked.”

  “...Pardon?”

  Norm turns into a statue.

  “You generate excellent torque off the rear leg,” The man continues, “But you have a tendency to rotate the right side of your hip too far forward when you turn, likely a residual tic stemming from that psychosomatic limp of yours, no doubt-”

  She blinks. Once. Twice. Her brain makes a dial-up noise and crashes entirely.

  The man does not stop talking.

  “And since I’m responsible for your conditioning, I’d rather not start the year with a wholly preventable injury. Herbe keeps me occupied enough.”

  Her silence finally catches his attention, looking up from his notepad.

  Something in her head had short circuited. Yes, the man was a trainer. But she didn’t expect him to give advice on the spot like this.

  “Curious. Were you not informed?”

  A small pause. He sighs.

  “I see. So Herbe neglected to mention it.” He closes the notebook with a crisp snap. “Then allow me to correct that oversight.”

  He steps forward, holding his hand out to shake Normcore’s.

  “My name, of course, is Hiroyuki Kento. You can call me Kento if you must, but I much prefer Mr. Hiroyuki.”

  His grip is firm. His strength is one that belies his youthful appearance.

  “Or,” He winks, “Trainer.”

  The word settles into the air between them.

  “As the designated trainer of team Arcturus,” he adds, his smile cutting through the frigid silence. “I welcome you, on their behalf, to Tracen Academy.”